


Peace

by AutumnRayne



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mulled wine, Oh Come All Ye Faithful Fic Exchange, implied naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnRayne/pseuds/AutumnRayne
Summary: "The dreariness of the day had been a perfect match to his mood, mirroring the abstract ruminating in his mind.  Grey, formless, unspecified thoughts and concerns, what-ifs that had churned within him like the clouds that had swirled over the City of Angels.  Feelings, Dr. Martin would call them.  His brow furrowed as he mentally chewed over the word.  He had rejected the very notion, argued every instance the doctor had given in example.  The devil did not do feelings."  For the Oh Come All Ye Faithful Fic Exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BecomeMyObsession](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecomeMyObsession/gifts).



> This is my first Secret Santa! Yay! My prompt was "mulled wine". To my dearest BecomeMyObession, for the Oh Come All Ye Faithful Fic Exchange. Happy Holidays!

                Lucifer rolled onto his right side, curling his body into the relaxing warmth of cotton sheets and a thick comforter.  The exhaustion he had wholly expected to crash around him had not come, despite the fact that sleep had eluded him the previous night.  He had left the comfort of his silk sheets just after three in the morning, unable to find anything less than an uneasy, fitful slumber.

_Ignoring the chill of the floor against the bottoms of his bare feet, Lucifer padded through the penthouse towards the bar.  He curled his fingers around the necks of five full bottles of alcohol and crooked one finger into an empty tumbler.  After sitting on the leather sofa, he arranged the bottles on the cushion to his left, keeping his stock within easy reach.  His attention then focused on the drop of rain collecting on the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him.  He watched the drops combine and morph into larger blobs of water; watched them trail rivers downward along the pane until they reached the balcony floor and melded with the standing puddles.  Lucifer filled the tumbler and settled into the cushions.  Hours passed while he counted the flashes of lightning (forty-three) and counted the time between the explosions of light and the accompanying rumbles and cracks of thunder (no break less than two seconds, not one more than nine)._

                By the time Lucifer had decided to remove himself from the dent he had certainly created in the sofa’s cushion, the sun had been absent from the sky for nearly three hours.  The fall of evening had escaped his notice, as at no point during the gloomy, storm-ridden day had the sun been able to pierce the thick clouds.  Lucifer Morningstar, he thought.  Prince of Darkness, Lord of Hell.

                Master of Sloth.

                Lucifer released a quiet sigh.  Entirely absent from life, and he still had not been able to find peace.  The dreariness of the day had been a perfect match to his mood, mirroring the abstract ruminating in his mind.  Grey, formless, unspecified thoughts and concerns, what-ifs that had churned within him like the clouds that had swirled over the City of Angels.  Feelings, Dr. Martin would call them.  His brow furrowed as he mentally chewed over the word.  He had rejected the very notion, argued every instance the doctor had given in example.  The devil did not do feelings.

                Or so he had once believed.

                The events of the day before, however, had proven beyond any doubt, beyond every rebuttal that he was truly stuck in the wasteland of human emotions.

                _“Why?” Lucifer screamed, slamming his palm against the marbled tile of the shower wall.  He pressed his other hand against the wall and braced his weight as he leaned forward.  His head fell under the spray and the water cascaded along the length of his back.  He tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm down, but the images in his head refused to leave him alone.  He couldn’t think of another time he had been as angry as he had been the day before with the detective.  He had seen something in her he never thought possible, desperation.  Every action she had taken was unnecessary and reckless._

_Images began to flood his mind again, images he had hoped chased away by the alcohol.  Images of himself sitting on the floor of the disgusting, run-down apartment, the detective’s lifeless body cradled in his arms.  Had it not been for his superhuman reflexes, the images that plagued his mind could very well have been reality._

_The detective had not taken his heroic act of salvation quite the way he would have expected.  She had hit him, slapped at him out of anger.  Yelled at him.  His actions to save her life caused their baddie to escape.  For the third time, the criminal had possessed the upper hand.  The detective had been on edge since the start of their case, and her frayed nerves did nothing but exasperate her anger._

                _She was safe, he kept repeating to himself.  That was all that mattered._

_An unwelcome sting pricked at Lucifer’s eyes and his breathing shallowed.  His arms slowly gave way and he shifted to press a shoulder into the wall.  His stomach twisted, his chest ached.  All he could do was slide to the floor._

                Lucifer rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his unruly, black hair.  Tears.  Absurd.  The devil did _not_ cry.  Yet there he had stayed, in a sobbing wreck of a pile on the floor of his shower.  Absurd was too kind a word.  No, the experience had not been merciful.  He had suffered the entirety.  He had no one to blame but himself, he supposed.  After all, he knew the detective was the source of the shift in his mindset, and, despite that knowledge, he chose to follow the spring of change, to insert himself into her life.

                To become undefinably dependent upon her.

                _Lucifer drove aimlessly around town, unable to shake the twisting deep within his being.  Though the rain had stopped, the gloominess had lingered heavily in the night sky, taunting him, bringing that much more attention to the feelings he wanted so badly to forget.  He could not forget though, he could not ignore them.  They simply cut too deep._

_He drove past several small shops in a block-long strip mall, each sporting Christmas signs in the front windows.  He pulled the Corvette to a stop at a red light and looked to his right.  In bright pink neon letters, the words “Peace on Earth” blinked through the window of the door.  Peace on Earth, he scoffed inwardly.  Where was **his** peace on Earth?  Why was he wandering through the city streets, burdened with feelings he should never have possessed?  Why was he torn apart by a mortal woman?  Where was his peace?_

_A sharp turn of the steering wheel changed the direction of the car and before he realized what he was doing, he found himself at the detective’s apartment, standing outside the door, hand poised to knock.  He hesitated to draw attention to his presence.  He had not spoken to her since leaving the station late the night before.  Her anger towards him had not subsided, even as he was certain she had realized he had taken the correct course of action in saving her.  He had spent the entire day buzzed and listless, waiting for her to call or text him, wanting her to break him out of his pathetic reverie.  Needing the contact with her to soothe the ache in his heart._

_Despite his many silent pleas, she had not called.  She had not made any effort to settle the rift that had appeared between them, and he could no longer take the torment.  He needed to see her, needed to talk to her._

_He needed her._

                Neither had spoken as Chloe had opened the door, neither greeting the other in any sort.  To say she had been less than thrilled to see Lucifer at the door was an understatement; her thoughts on the matter clearly written across her features.  Nevertheless, she had stepped back from the doorway and silently invited him into the apartment.  Once he had crossed the threshold, she had started towards the kitchen, leaving him to close the door.

                _Lucifer locked the door as he watched the detective walk away from him, just as she had at the precinct.  The natural sway of her hips was stiff, her shoulders were set, her fists clenched at her sides.  He dropped his eyes to the floor, considering how to start the conversation until his senses registered a warm, pleasant smell.  He lifted his chin and gently inhaled, detecting the scent of cinnamon and the softer scent of citrus.  He took another breath through his nose.  Vanilla, he thought with a small smile._

                _“What are you making?” he asked quietly._

_“Mulled wine,” she answered as she stirred the contents of the pot on the stove._

_“It smells delightful.”  She lifted her eyes, only her eyes, and offered a curt, teasing smile._

_“It is.”  Lucifer could not stop the spread of the wide smile across his lips.  Her eyes offered the one thing he most wanted, closure of the rift.  “Ever had mulled wine?”_

_“No,” he started, taking a few steps into the apartment._

_“Have a seat,” she said, pointing towards the sofa.  “It’s almost ready.”_

_“Ah, look at this,” he noted as he made his way towards the living area.  “You have a Christmas tree.”  He looked appreciatively at the nicely decorated, fake tree, lit with hundreds of white lights.  “I thought you didn’t believe,” he stated as he sat on the sofa._

_“Hmm,” she offered in way of response.  “I don’t believe in the whole fiery damnation thing.  The other stuff?”  She shrugged as she dipped a ladle into the pot.  “I’m not really sure what I believe when it comes to that.”  With two clear glass mugs filled and in hand, she made her way across the room.  “But Dan believes,” she started as she handed a glass to Lucifer, “and his family believes.  And then there’s my mom.”  She playfully rolled her eyes as she sat beside him.  “Don’t ever take away any opportunity my mom has to buy presents for her only grandchild.”_

_“Noted,” he nodded.  Lucifer lifted the glass to his mouth, deeply inhaling the scent of the warm beverage before sipping it.  “This is delicious, Detective.”  He took a second drink, savoring the heat in the temperature and the flavor.  “Creates a rather cozy feeling, does it not?”_

_“Yeah,” Chloe laughed gently.  “It’s a family favorite.  My dad used to make it all the time when I was younger.  Of course, he had to make a special batch for me, grape juice not wine.”_

_“Hmm.  Well, I certainly approve of this family favorite.  Well done, Detective.”_

_“Thank you,” she smiled.  “I just figured since you and I have the weekend off, Maze is off doing…well, whatever it is she does, and Trixie is with Dan for the next four days…”  She shrugged.  “Why not indulge a little?”  Lucifer offered a low chuckle._

_“Why not indulge a lot?”_

_“Because I don’t really care to be hung over the entire weekend,” she answered, gently smacking his arm._

_“Well, to each their own, I suppose.”  He pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over the back of both of their shoulders, frowning as the blanket would slip off one as he adjusted it over the other._

_“What are you doing?” she asked with a laugh._

_“What good is drinking a beverage that brings the cozy if one does not actually get cozy?”  With a thoughtful hum, he reached for Chloe, slipping an arm under her knees and drawing her legs over his thighs.  “This blanket it not big enough for both of us if you’re so far away,” he explained as he scooted closer.  She simply smiled, allowing him to adjust the fabric as she relaxed into him._

                They had fallen into conversation rather easily over the next few glasses of mulled wine, Lucifer listening with interest as Chloe talked about Christmases past and old family traditions.  After a while, however, he had stopped listening, distracted by the effect of the glow of lights from the Christmas tree.  It had complimented the golden color of her hair, highlighted each errant strand that refused to fall in line with the wavy style of her long locks.  Her skin had glowed with the gentle yellowish hue of the lights and her eyes had appeared a much darker shade of blue.

_“Lucifer,” Chloe started quietly.  “I owe you an apology.  For yesterday.”  Her eyes lifted from the glass in her hand, but did not meet his eyes.  “I was just…frustrated over losing our guy again.  I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”_

_“I am truly sorry he escaped our clutches,” he replied, pulling himself from his thoughts.  “Detective…”  His eyes dropped to his own glass.  “I won’t apologize for what I did,” he said after a silent moment.  “Your life is too important.”_

_“One shot, Lucifer.  That’s all I needed.”_

_“You didn’t have one shot, Detective.”  He looked at her then, greeted by angry eyes and a frown._

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“Yes, I do.”  They had slipped into the apartment, seemingly unnoticed.  They had come in behind the perpetrator, strategically advantageous.  Yet the subtle shift in the murderer’s shoulders had told Lucifer they had not entered undetected._

_“No, you don’t.”  Chloe placed her glass on the coffee table in front of them and shrugged off the blanket as she stood.  Lucifer followed her actions, towering over her as he straightened his posture.  He had wasted no time in tackling her to the ground, holding her down despite her protesting actions as the criminal tossed a hatchet in their direction and then carved the wall above them with a riddle of bullets._

_“Detective, did you not see the hatchet?” he asked as he stepped towards her.  “Did you not see nearly the entire blade buried in the wall?  Had I not taken you down, that blade would have been buried in your head.”_

_“Lucifer, stop.”_

_“No, I don’t think I will.”_

_“You don’t understand, Lucifer,” she bit.  “That’s part of the job, all right?  It’s dangerous.  I’m sorry that you don’t see that, but—”_

_“ **You** don’t understand, Detective,” he interrupted loudly.  “He could have killed you.  What would I do if you died?” he asked, stepping closer.  “And I don’t mean the job,” he stated quickly, absently waving his hand.  “I mean **me**.  What would **I** do?”  He closed the distance between them and lightly placed his hands on her cheeks.  “What would I do?” he whispered._

_“Lucifer,” she breathed.  “I…”_

_“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly._

_“You won’t,” she assured him with a whisper.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  He leaned into her, gently pressing his lips to hers, unmoving yet lingering._

                Lucifer had expected Chloe to receive the kiss kindly.  It had been, after all, a symbol of care and affection, an appreciation of the gift of her friendship and her partnership.

Of her.

He had not expected to discover her fingers twisted into the lapels of his suitcoat.  He had not expected her to return the kiss, let alone return it with the smoldering passion she had exhibited.  She had pushed him onto the couch, sliding her knees along the outside of his thighs as she straddled his lap.

_His arm found its way around her waist, tightening his hold to eliminate the space between their bodies.  His free hand ran over the round of her shoulder and his fingers buried themselves in her hair.  Lucifer took over and slowed the kiss, pouring everything he had into the touch of his lips against her.  He would not stop until she understood everything he felt, understood all that he himself could not name or comprehend.  At some point, they started moving towards Chloe’s bedroom, Lucifer pressing her against nearly every surface between the two rooms.  He didn’t relinquish contact with her mouth, even as they reached the bed and tumbled onto the mattress._

                Returning to his side, Lucifer smiled as he took in the sleeping face of his companion, his partner, his detective.  Their first encounter had started heavily but had quickly turned into a slow, exquisitely torturous joining.  Lucifer had not intended the moment to be one of control but he had needed to show her what he held inside and she had allowed him the opportunity.  Every gentle touch, every feather-like brush of his lips against her skin, every embrace to keep her close, everything a declaration of…

                Of what?

                Lucifer pulled his arm free from the blankets and ran a finger across the back of her hand, from her wrist to the separation of her fingers.  Her hand twitched gently, affected by the tickling sensation.  He touched a lightly sticky spot along the inside of her middle finger and smiled.  Their second round had been a little less passionate, and much more rousing.  Perhaps the situation had become slightly out of hand with the addition of the mulled wine.  He had not admitted to bringing the glass of wine into the bedroom, simply acting as surprised as the detective had been.  The surprise had been short-lived, however, when the two fingers he had dipped into the wine touched her neck just below the line of her jaw.

                _Chloe inhaled gently as the warm liquid traced a path along the column of her neck, flowed over the curve of her collarbone and drifted downwards between the swell of her breasts.  Lucifer watched the drops until their journey ended then lifted his eyes to hers and offered a wicked smile.  Wrapping his fingers tightly in the hair at the back of her head, he pulled to lift her chin and then licked and kissed his way along the path of the wine._

                It had not ended there, of course.  He couldn’t let it.  Not after finding a new favorite use for alcoholic beverages.  He had covered every inch of her skin with the wine, had relished the taste of the cinnamon coupled with the flavor of her skin; had nearly come undone with the tang of alcohol on her lips.  He smiled at the memory and leaned in to place a soft kiss against her sticky finger.

                “Lucifer?” she called gently.

                “Shh.”  He smoothed his hand over her hair.  “I didn’t mean to wake you, Detective.”

                “What are you doing?” she asked sleepily.

                “Appears I’ve missed a spot.”  She rolled her eyes at him and moaned gently, contently, as she turned her back to him.  They shifted towards each other until her back pressed against his bare chest.  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.

                “I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered in reply.

                “Really?”  She answered with a soft wiggle of her hips against his.

                “Really.”  A wide smile slowly spread across Lucifer’s face as his arm tightened around Chloe’s waist.  He placed a lingering kiss against her temple as feelings began to trickle into his head again.  This time, however, the feelings spread an appreciated warmth through his body.  It didn’t matter that they had fought, it didn’t matter that they had slept together.

                It didn’t matter that they were both covered in remnants of mulled wine.

                All that mattered to Lucifer was that Chloe was in his arms.  Safe and alive, and no longer angry with him.  She was his peace, he realized.  And he would take her presence in his life, their connection, in any form it chose.

                His peace on Earth lay beside him, under cheap cotton sheets.


End file.
